TW: Semi-graphic Violence

My new allies fueled my imagination. Morzan was in charge of Balor; part surveillance and part distraction. Luckily for me, Mama was a man of myriad vices (ie: the exact sort of person that Balor made his fortune serving). Morzan was perfectly content to keep Balor company while I dug into his business. Beren was almost always attached to Balor's hip, and the hours he had to himself he was unreachable. Antebellum found an agent capable of passing for a much younger woman. The business was unsavory in the extreme, but more effective than I could have ever imagined.

I gained a much clearer picture of Balor's operations through their efforts. In particular, I learned that Balor's primary interest in Teirm was a smuggling ring; a whole network of people leeching off of every shipment. Silton and his lackeys kept tabs on the ships themselves and their owners, hence their total dominance of the docks and surrounding neighborhoods. Many merchants knew something was amiss but were too scared to act. Balor had enough of his employees scattered in the guard to keep the nobles blind to it all. Anyone who blew the whistle would be promptly and succinctly dealt with (more than one had been murdered already). Our only hope to shake his grip on Teirm was to attack his investments directly. He needed to see that keeping his foothold would cost more than it would pay. And to do that…

We needed to cause a little mayhem.


It was nearly an hour past sundown when the first coded knock interrupted my meditation. I ushered Felice into my rented room, barring the crooked door behind her. She sat on the straw mattress, one boot kicked up on the rungs of the same stool where our only lamp flickered. I crossed my arms and leaned back against the door. "You're the first to arrive. Are your friends always late to appointments?"

"Only important ones," she said with a grin.

I shook my head. What am I doing, working with amateurs again?

Technically, Katana added with amusement, they are the professionals and we are the amateurs.

Just because I've never stolen purely for money-

You've never stolen for survival. There can be no ego in this mission; follow their instincts, and offer ours in kind.

I sighed, relaxing my shoulders. How long have you been the strategist between us?

Since the moment you found me.

Felice layed out a series of instruments on the rough bedspread; a club of worn driftwood, a half-dozen pins on a length of cord, and a wickedly sharp (if shabby) dirk. She bent down to retighten the laces on her boots. She asked, "Why do we think that tonight will be any different from the other times people have tried to rip them off?" Even a blind man could see she was nervous.

"Because," I said patiently, "We know that they are at their weakest tonight. One of Silton's top men got himself scooped up in a drunken brawl, his bosses are far away and deep in their cups, and we are rallied. We won't have another opportunity like this."

"You call a dozen pissed-off thugs in a fortress an opportunity?" She puffed her cheeks and sighed. "We're fucked."

"No talking like that when the others arrive. It's your job to keep them focused and motivated."

"It's not my job to lie to them!"

"Of course it is. Tonight must go perfectly if any of you are going to survive; if you want justice for Sugar. And the only hope you have of that happening is if you can hold them steady, by any means necessary." I rested my hands on my hips, so very close to a pair of trustworthy daggers. "If you can't, then I suggest you tell me right now."

Felice narrowed her eyes, sweeping her rough-chopped hair back and tying on a headcloth. "Thanks for the pep talk, Red. Speaking of, you should really consider a hood."

I fingered the end of my braid. As fun as it's been to be a ginger, there are certainly advantages to having dark hair. "You're right. Have one to spare?"

"Yep!" She reached into her shoulder bag and tossed over a scarf. "It needs a pin."

I had just fastened it in place when there was another knock. This time, I opened the door to see two strangers, as different as two people could be. The first was a slender blonde woman with pale skin and grey-green eyes; pretty as a fairy and twice as mischievous. Behind her stood a tall man with broad shoulders and medium brown skin. He was heavily scarred on his hands and lower arms. Both were draped in ill-fitting dark clothing and wore sturdy working boots. I stepped back so Felice could view our guests. She lifted her chin in greeting and the pair joined her in the already puny room.

"About time!" Felice scolded, swatting the man on his shoulder. "You're making me look bad."

"Don't take much, do it?" He grinned. "Sorry Mom, won't happen again."

"Who're you calling Mom, ya' damn mongrel-"

"We really are sorry," the woman slid in, "but we thought it would be worth it to have these along," She unhooked a bundle of cloth from her belt and unfolded it. A half-dozen steaming rolls filled the room with a buttery-sweet aroma. "We can't possibly do a job if we're all starving."

"Here, here!" The man cheered, scooping one of the rolls up and shoving half of it into his mouth.

Felice relented and accepted the peace offering. "Thank you, Sugar. If you could just put a muzzle on this mister of yours-"

"Thish Mshter neesh no mushlin!" Speckles of bread flew all over the bed and Felice's legs as he protested.

"Wolfy, please chew before you argue." The girl, Sugar, patted his leg soothingly. Contrary to his own protestations, he did relax… marginally.

"So we have your infiltration specialist and our third blade. We're still waiting on one more?"

"Monty," Felice said, "he's mine. A bit soft for street work, but he's the sharpest of us all."

"She means he can read," Wolfy added helpfully.

A third and final knock brought the last member of our band into the space. He was a shockingly average-looking man; medium height and build, brown hair and eyes, unremarkable features… all around, the kind of person that could be ignored by anyone. He entered with a bowed head, "Sorry to keep you waiting, Love. My boss ran me ragged at the last minute. I thought I'd never get away!"

"Alls well," Felice patted the bed next to her, scooping her tools into her lap.

"And we have the inventory man." I triple-checked that my wards were secure, then refocused on my guests. These four were the only official members of Felice's little family. No one would ever guess that this group was an aspiring gang. But, then again, they're all so comfortable with one another. That takes considerable trust and teamwork.

The forsworn themselves never had better. Katana mused.

I smiled. And all they needed was a powerful, ambitious, and bitter mage to give them a push.

Then get to pushing! We're losing moonlight.

I bowed deeply with a flourish. "It's a pleasure to finally meet Felice's family. We are gathered here tonight against a mutual enemy; one that has loosed a rain of bullshit on those beneath him for far too long. I'm sure that she's already told you most of the plan, but please be patient with me as we run through it once more. It is not complicated, but the timing must be perfect."

Sugar waved, Wolfy saluted with his second bun, and Monty offered a hearty, "Good evening!"

"Thank you. Our target tonight is a warehouse on the south side of town. Though it is nondescript by design, it will likely be guarded by every goon Silton can spare. We," I gestured to Felice, Wolfy, and myself, "will be in charge of keeping their attention and capturing as many of them as possible. And remember: if Silton escapes then this will all have been for nothing."

"I want him," Wolfy said, hand resting protectively on Sugar's calf.

"If he crosses your path, he's all yours. But I want him alive if possible. The goal is to make a name for your group; an excess of violence would send the wrong message."

"Death would be too easy for that weasel," Sugar hissed. Wolfy nudged his head under her chin and she pet his hair.

"You two," I continued, gesturing to Monty and Sugar, "Will start examining their stores while the fighting is still going on. We're looking for any cargo that's flammable, hazardous, or human."

"They have people locked in a warehouse?!" Monty was beside himself. "Those rat bastards!"

I nodded encouragingly. So there's fire behind that meek face after all. Interesting. "Anything too dangerous to steal will be destroyed when we leave. If they do have slaves there, leave them until the fighting is done. We can't protect people from the shadows, which is precisely where we'll be."

"What do we do if some of the vermin slip the trap?" Felice asked. "They'll run home to their masters and have us hunted down like dogs."

I gave her the only answer I had, "Then they won't escape."

-:- -:- -:-

How predictable. The warehouse was the quintessential shady hideout. The dark wood was weather-beaten and warped. A few stacks of rancid shipping crates occupied the stretch of bare dirt between the building and the road. Heavy chains were fastened over the entrance and two workers loitered on each corner. "Sentries," I whispered back to my companions.

"We can take them out before they make a peep!" Felice said.

"We could, but Sugar and Monty will have a much easier time if they raise the alarm." I flipped open my own bag of tricks, carefully taking out three wrapped packages.

"And we'll have a much harder time," Wolfy reasoned.

"Not quite. You two make for the middle and far right stacks of crates and I'll take the left. When things kick off, the sentries will make some noise and rush toward me. Then you two can knock them down before their reinforcements come. If we're quick enough, we can reuse the same strategy for most of their force."

"And if we're not?"

I shrugged. "Then this gets a lot messier."

My two companions did as I asked. Wolfy darted from shadow to shadow like he'd been born to do it; as much a part of the night as the bats darting overhead. Felice was slower, but careful as any sneak I'd ever seen. I took my moment of solitude to compose a spell. A shiver in the air, no more than the sheen of mists fading before a sunrise, marked the position of my barrier. Even if they flee, no one will make it through that.

Including your allies if you manage to get yourself killed. Katana added helpfully.

Then I won't. I dipped behind my allotted stack of crates; the first package tucked snugly in my palm. I rested my present in a tipped crate, with deliciously dry, rotten wood on all sides. Let's hope those lessons with Amroth were good for more than singed eyebrows. I crept back through the darkness a few feet before uttering the deceased mad genius's favorite word, "Istalri."

I definitely did not move back enough. I expected flames, but I didn't expect the shower of shrapnel that rained from the explosion. I had to duck my head into my cloak to protect myself from the splinters of wood. When I looked again, a roaring inferno blazed before me. Do you think that's distracting enough? I slid Katana the image proudly.

It must be, since you're just as distracted as they are!

Not a chance! I waved a hand, guiding a shroud of smoke to cover my steps as I circled to the left. As expected, the sentries had raised a whole panic before rushing into the thick of things all on their own.

My extended foot tripped the forth man straight into the third. I pounced on the tripper's back, knocking the wind out of both him and the poor sod tangled underneath. him. I unhooked a length of rope, dropped it to the ground, and whispered, "Bindr." The two became a single knot of limbs, flailing in discomfort and confusion. I hopped off to the next group. The trailing man had noticed the commotion behind him, really quite remarkable given the circumstances, and had bared a short sword to deal with the potential threat.

If only he'd had the wit to use it properly. He stretched forward as much he could, stabbing forward as I ran at him. I stepped aside, coming inside of his reach before he could even process what had befallen him. I grabbed a fistful of his collar and pushed him wide to the side, completing the overbalance he'd begun in his cut. The sword clattered out of his grip, alerting his partner. Said partner turned just in time to catch my boot in his chest instead of his back. I set another rope on these two. It wasn't quite long enough to reach both where they lay, so it coiled around one's torso and dragged him towards his companion.

Felice and Wolfy needed no more help than I did; they'd each dropped two a piece. Felice's cheek was smeared with blood, but it didn't seem to be hers. Wolfy held the last man in a chokehold while Felice knotted his limbs together. I skipped back into the shadows and turned toward the warehouse.

I'd grossly underestimated their numbers. Far from a dozen, closer to three dozen, dark shapes milled around just outside of the warehouse. Even worse, one of the figures was pointing back into the building and some of the men were moving in that direction. Time for more distractions then. I scampered up the center stack of crates and called down to my merry band of helpers, "Sneak off and help the others!" Then I sent the other two packages flying, one into the far right stack of boxes and one high overhead. Steady… now! Just as the two explosions rent the night, I loosed a shrill whistle. "Oi, Silton! Will you keep sending your girlfriends to play with me, or are you going to face me yourself?"

Luckily, my plan worked. Unluckily, it worked very, very well. The whole pack of them rushed straight down the center in a clump. I snapped out a thread of magic and my third victim's dropped weapon lept eagerly to my hand. The crowd broke somewhat on the stack of crates, like a snake unsure of where to strike first. The most eager of them started to clamber up after me. For a short time, I did a good job of kicking them and hacking at their exposed hands. But one of them managed to get a grubby fist around my ankle and yanked me down. I didn't bother to spare him, burying my borrowed blade in his shoulder. He crumpled into a perfect stepping stool for me to regain my perch.

This time I didn't stop on the middle tier, instead darting as high as I dared. First one arrow then another sank into the wood to my left. I squinted, but the smoke from my first distraction obscured the archer from me. And besides, I had more immediate concerns. A dingy hand groped around my footing. I stamped down on the digits until their host shriveled off, growling in pain. From somewhere below I heard the furious roar of, "Burn that bitch!"

Now that is a problem. I slid two daggers free of their sheaths. These blades had been with me longer than any others. They weren't special in their own right, but they were reliable and as comfortable in my hands as any weapon could be. I surveyed the tier below me and chose the least prepared wretch to be my test subject. I stepped off the crate directly behind him, leaned my back against it, and kicked out with my right leg. He tumbled, screaming like a sow betrayed to the ax. The men to my left and right caught a blade each in their sides before they could bring their longer weapons to bear. They joined the first man in his fall and I jumped after them.

The attackers became more jumbled and confused the farther down I traveled, especially when they stumbled over their comrades. But I was still a full ten feet off the ground when I heard a triumphant shout from off to my left. A man held a shard of blazing shrapnel aloft in one hand, a small vessel of some kind in the other. He chucked the board onto the lowest tier and a whole six feet of it burst into oily flame. The remaining men panicked and fled, some already doomed to a truly horrific fate. I clenched my jaw, resheathed my knives, and sprinted straight along my current shelf.

I jumped as far out as I could, tucking into a haphazard roll as soon as I was sure I'd cleared the fire. The men were scattering. Many of them would soon find my little barrier, and then they would really be dangerous; trapped like rats. Cut off the head, defang the snake. I scanned the field for the man I'd seen before. That one had to be Silton; there couldn't be two men that despicable in one city.

Apparently, he'd had a very similar thought because he was already stalking towards me. He held a wicked polearm, spiked at one end and weighted with a dual spike-hammer head on the other. Strong, versatile, cocky. I rearmed myself and set a ready pose. Nothing I haven't seen.

Be extra careful anyway. Balor could have given him some tricks.

Silton wasn't much of a talker, for which I was grateful. He came at me already swinging and bellowing. I tried to bait him into overreaching, but he was as dexterous as he was murderous. He also seemed just as comfortable with his right hand as he was with his left, launching his attacks from unpredictable angles. I mostly played an evasive game, watching his body language for any sign of hesitation. But then my opponent broke his limited courtesy, cooing, "Not so cocky now, rank little slit! I'll poke a few new holes in you, and give all my lads a go!"

I curled my nose. I'm going to castrate this one before we bring him in.

Please leave me out of that particular process.

Will do.

As our fight progressed, I sensed a bit of an audience queuing up. They aren't stepping in to help him. They want to know how this is going to end before they do anything, one way or the other. This proved an encouraging thought. I grimaced and forced more of my attention to the man himself, relaxing into a rhythm.

He was larger than me, still young to be this skilled, and athletic to a fault. Sweat ran down his face, both from his efforts and from the roaring heat to either side of us. Through the grime I caught the sheen of a thick, straight scar running down the right side of his face; as if someone had deliberately pressed a knife to it long ago. On a hunch, I feinted my left blade as near to his face as I thought prudent. Sure enough, he abandoned an attack combination to block me. I rewarded his speedy reaction with a superficial but long slash on his left hip. He disengaged for a moment, glaring at me with pure hatred.

Katana, I have a plan. Loan me a little energy?

What's mine is yours.

The sudden rush of strength felt like lightning in my veins. I kept my muscles loose, as if fighting exhaustion. He sensed it too, closing like a scavenger and readying his polearm for a new flurry of attacks. The spikes were easily the more deadly parts of the weapon, but it was the hammer I truly feared. If he managed to knock one of my daggers squarely, I doubted I could keep my grip. I could tell that he knew it too, and it was that very thing that I was counting on.

Silton didn't disappoint. He waded in, defenses even tighter than before and twice as ferocious. I played his game. I crept backward to avoid meeting him directly, though one of his swings did manage to tug my pinned hood free and graze my cheek. He chased and chased, growing more frustrated with every evasion. Finally, I danced back into somethign that would serve my purposes; a chunk of smoldering wood. I broke my rhythm as soon my foot touched it, readying for his onslaught. He rushed in greedily from my right, swinging with all his might for my left hand. I tweaked into his swing just enough to catch the shaft of his polearm on the edge of my blade. My arm went numb with the strain, but it worked; he was locked to me and functionally helpless. Before he could react, I leveled all that stored power into one brutal kick on the polearm's shaft. The weapon splintered and cracked with the telltale sizzling pop of dissipating magic. The dreaded hammer head fell to the dirt.

I dropped my left blade along with it, snatched the remnants of the pole, and shoved it back toward its wielder like a spear. It lodged in his right shoulder and he bellowed in rage. My next kick was straight where he most deserved it, and he crumpled to the ground in real agony. I hopped right on his chest, knee pressed up to his jaw, and my remaining dagger resting against his unmarred cheek. "Surrender for your men to hear, or I'll get to work on, how did you put it, "poking a few new holes?" But I won't use them to be a pig," I pressed the blade until a pinprick of blood oozed near the tip, "I'll just fill them with more of that burning oil you seemed to like so much."

"Alright!" He growled. "I surrender! You win, psycho bitch-"

I punched out with the hilt of my dagger to cut his whining short. "That's it! You all heard him." I got to my feet, stiff but satisfied. "Surrender now and none of you will be harmed further. Waste my time or try anything funny, and you'll all be kindling!"

No one had much to say to the contrary.

-:- -:- -:-

"C'mon, we can't waste much time!" Monty fretted over his scribbled notes. "The city watch most definitely saw all those explosions."

"Sure, but half of them are paid off to not mind what happens over here. And the rest are probably scared out of their wits." Felice chirped merrily, tucking a bulging sack of coins into her bag.

"Civilians then! No one can see us here, or we'll all be up on the gallows together."

"Not all," Wolfy added, "Just him." He kicked Silton in the ribs one more time for good measure.

The bound lump groaned and spat out a mouthful of blood. I'd left him in pretty decent shape, but Wolfy wasn't quite satisfied with that. The extra bruises were well deserved after all, and a lot kinder than my original plan. Still, our prisoner was a pretty ungrateful bit of luggage. He growled, "You may as well just kill me. Either my boss will have me offed in prison, or the court will rip me open on the rack trying to prosecute him. Either way, it's over for me.

"Agreed," Sugar purred, "But things are just starting for us. And they start with you on your way to the lawmen."

"You're only our problem for a few more minutes. And, if you keep quiet, they might even be spent without a club shoved up your-"

"Wolfy!" Felice flicked the back of his ear. "Don't get him riled up again, or we'll be here all night."

"And we should already be gone," I said pointedly, gesturing to the cart of pilfered goods. Unfortunately, we'd caught them between major shipments of valuables. The most they had was a few crates of whale oil- worth twice its weight in gold, but damn impossible to transport safely with the embers still floating around out there. The coins we'd taken, some textile goods and other petty baubles Monty and Sugar had carefully packed into a cart with the rest of our prisoners. But the real victory of the day was the two dozen slaves we'd let loose, with a few gold coins each to land on their feet. Three of them- a mother and her two daughters- had even asked to stay with us. Felice had the youngest in her arms like her very own, fretting over all three just as any doting mother would.

"Wait a mo…. You." Silton's voice was no longer wretched and rough; it was alite with dread and delight. "I know you."

I didn't even need to see his face to know he was looking at me. The others all froze and watched me with disquiet. I sighed and rolled my shoulders. "Not possible."

"No, no, I do! You're the king's own bastard!" Silton's glee was palpable now. "My boss told me to look out for you, and if I caught you snooping around to close up shop a while."

I felt the group pull back in sudden fright. "The rambles of a doomed man aren't worth much, I'm afraid."

"Then how come I know your name, hm? It's Lil-" My punch came just a second too late. My fists were clenched so tightly that they were numb, my heart was pounding. Even in a burned-out cesspit hellhole, I still can't escape his shadow.

Calm yourself. Katana leeched my rage out like a poultice on a festering wound. I know why you're upset, but this is neither the time nor place for self-pity. They need answers and reassurance now.

I relaxed my hands and shook them out slowly. "Serves me right for using my real name. Unfortunately for you, that little tidbit isn't going to help you-"

"Oh yes it is!" He leered, teeth bloody. "I swore not to talk about my boss, but I swore no such promise to you. I'd be happy to tell them all about my new best friend. Unless, of course, you let me be."

"Fat chance of that!" Wolfy darted forward and kicked him onto his side, spitting on him as he fell. Then he whirled on me. "And don't think I'm on your side either. What the fuck is a damn princess doing running around in a gutter?"

Sugar sidled up to Wolfy and hugged his arm. "Baby, not now. We can talk after we deliver the goods and the grunts. We need to go."

"She's right," Felice waved her free hand. "There'll be time for this when all is done."

"It's a pretty short story," I said. "The king is a cunt, and a worthless one at that. I decided to do a little good wherever I could. I started with Teirm, with your family. There's more to it, of course, but that's the gist."

"Smells like shit to me," Wolfy growled.

Monty cut in, gesturing over Silton's groaning body, "And besides the point, what's to be done about all of this! If we bring him, it will be certain ruin for Ms. Lilly."

"Fuck her," Wolfy glared at me, every bit a guard dog on full alert. "She lied to us!"

"Hey!" Felice snapped at him. "Lying and thieving go together like jam on toast. And families don't fall apart over one stupid lie. She's family now," she turned a narrowed eye to me, "until proven otherwise."

"I know what to do with Silton," I said coolly. I hooked the ropes around his torso and dragged him to the section of the warehouse that was still loaded with whale oil. "Can't talk to anyone if he's dead."

I thought the proposition would bring on a maelstrom of objections. Aside from the man himself, I heard not a peep. I turned, and my four cohorts were all exchanging glances. Monty was the one who finally broke the tension. "Cold-blooded as a striking viper."

Felice chuckled. "That's not a bad name, Viper. And you've even got two fangs on you!"

Wolfy sniffed and leaned his head on top of Sugar's. "It's only fair. If you're really family now, you need a name. Wouldn't be in this mess in the first place if you had one."

A strange tightness started around my chest. I tugged one of my "fangs" free and pressed it against the man's throat. "Anything else?"

"Just one more thing," Sugar whispered. "Let him be awake for it."

I blinked. And they're calling me cold-blooded? Then I smiled warmly, tucking my blade away. "Bad luck, Silton. You fucked with the wrong family." Then I patted the poor wretch's cheek and hopped into the cart.

We trundled off to Teirm's third ring, the entire warehouse a pillar of flame behind us.


How convenient that my little barrier protected the buildings around it until all was said and done. It also kept nosy bystanders from finding much besides charred bones of the men who didn't survive our onslaught. Those that did were only luckier by a thin margin, as they were part of our gift to the lawmen of Teirm. We provided an itemized list of goods "nobly returned" by the "right and honorable brotherhood of thieves" who "took exception to the methods of these fallen souls" as well as the wanted posters for each of our prisoners (provided by yours truly). And the best part? We hung them by their wrists in plain view of one of the fanciest homes in the city, wrapped up like winter-festival sweets! All of Teirm was buzzing about it, in the best and worst way. A new gang, clearly very powerful and brazen as hell, but also possessed of a "conscience"? What an oddity! The nobles thought it very droll, and the merchants were just relieved to be rid of Silton and his ilk.

The family and I had a long, serious talk about my history. I opened up to them fairly, if not fully. They gained a better understanding of my position (mostly through Monty's help) and even came to accept me as I was; incomplete, imperfect, and freshly burned. Felice was especially welcoming. "If I knew I was robbing royalty, I'd have tried to take even more!" I kept the name Viper, for use only in their dealings of course. I went on to work very closely indeed with Felice.

But first, there was a reckoning I needed to survive.


"You wanted to see me, Father?" I bowed low in the doorway of the meeting room. A dozen or so pairs of eyes sized me up nervously. I tucked my chin low to hide my mirth.

"You were summoned, yes." My unscrupulous use of the familial title must have bothered him even more than I thought it would; he seemed ready to explode in front of his assembled advisors.

I did a quick sweep of the ground; not a skirt in sight. Seems that Verra only replaced one of my myriad duties, and the least important one at that.

A little too pleased with yourself, aren't you? Katana prodded.

Maybe. Speaking of, I'm sure that he is very displeased with me at the moment. You'd better seperate from me until-

I can endure anything you can. This was as much my scheme as it was your's.

I swallowed my tenderness. Very well. But I'm about to make him even angrier.

That would be impressive, considering.

I tuned back into the room as twelve chairs pushed in at once. Only two people kept their seats; Galbatorix and Morzan. I righted myself and closed the doors, all the while keeping an eye on the king's back. "What's vexed you?"

His fingers twitched and the stem of his goblet shattered. He stood and whirled around, brow furrowed and fists clenched. "Dare you feign ignorance of the recenter disaster in Teirm?"

At least we're not mincing words. "As a matter of fact, I am in the dark yet. Explain it to me?"

He lifted a hand to strike me but a sudden pop broke his momentum. Both of turned to Morzan, who sat with a freshly decorked bottle in one hand. He kicked his feet up on the table and leaned back. "Couldn't have been her, Daddy."

Torix, much to my genuine shock, dropped his hand. "Who else?"

Mommy dug in his ear disinterestedly. "No clue. But she was running a little errand for me in Belatona."

I couldn't believe my ears. At Morzan's lazy smile, I added, "Right. Traders had gotten hold of some dwarven brandy. We figured you'd rather have me gone than him."

Torix looked between us carefully, as if weighing something. He dusted off the shoulder of his cape and remarked, "All that proves is that she wasn't physically there. Who's to say it wasn't still an object of her design?"

Morzan shrugged. "Good point. Finding that out is more your business, Daddy."

My fragile hopes sunk. Thank you for trying, Mom. And fuck you for not trying harder.

Torix seemed mollified somewhat by that concession. Then he flicked a dismissive hand at Morzan. The big man staggered to his feet, tossed me an encouraging salute, and meandered out of the meeting room. "Then the question becomes, who acted as the pawn?"

I tapped my fingers on my hips impatiently. "Why don't you strap me down and find out, if you're so sure I'm guilty."

He scowled dangerously. "What makes you believe that I won't?"

Oh, I know you will. My mind flicked like a frightened rabbit between old memories; things buried much deeper than my conscious thoughts could reckon. "Here's a more pertinent question; why do you care?"

He chuckled, but it was tight and strained. "Balor is quite put out about it-"

"Keeping Balor happy is not my concern," I crossed my arms, "nor is it yours."

Whatever the correct thing to say was, it was not this. Instead of exploding, as had become his habit since my return, he stiffened and relaxed his features into a mask of nonchalance. "Speak your mind, Lilleth." Torix lowered himself back into his seat, muscles rigid as stone. "If I like what you have to say, then I will pardon this inconvenience. If not, I will add ten lashes for every impertinent comment you make. "

I shivered quite against my will. For all his many (and varied) talents, one of the most appropriately terrifying was his skill with a whip. His favorite instrument was a barbed thing that could skin a fish in mid-air. I'd seen what it did to flesh up close and personal, and it wasn't a torment I could face down easily.

I swallowed hard. "You told me that you would have no part in dealing with Balor. You never said that I was forbidden from dealing with him in my own way."

He tapped one finger on the arm of his chair, scowling and agitated. "So you confess?"

"There was no crime." I held up two fingers. "Criminals were handed over and stolen goods were returned. The only thing I admit is that my will and that of the person responsible are aligned; Balor has had the run of the underworld for too long. If one has emerged to challenge him, then I can only wish them good fortune."

"Ten." He said coolly. "The crown may not ally itself with brigands-"

"Like Balor?" I asked. Before he could threaten me further, I added, "He declared war on me a decade ago. I handled it. He has no right to come crawling to you just because his bet came up short; because he made the same mistake that people always have."

"Twenty." Torix paused, chewing my words with a sour expression. His fingers flexed. "Enlighten me, Princess. What mistake is that?"

"The same one Vrael made." Torix's face darkened in sudden malice. I licked my lips. "You once told me that you and he were never in love? He never loved you because he never respected you. He didn't trust or fear you because he never thought you worthy of either. You were an oddity; a decoration. When you turned on him, he still underestimated you at every turn. That very disdain is what eventually cost him his life."

"Thirty."

"And you learned quite a bit from him, didn't you?" He stood, stalking toward me like a prowling animal. His eyes burned with something much uglier than hate. "Never, not for a single moment of our liaison, did you actually take me seriously. There never was an us; just you and the joke you turned me into."

"Forty."

"I think that the real final straw for you had nothing to do with the Riders' sins. You hated being used so much that you decided to bring his life's work crashing down around him. The rest was just collateral damage." I stepped back and squared my shoulders. "In light of that, I have a question. What do you think I have in store for you? Because I guarantee, Galbatorix," He grabbed my throat, but not tightly enough to stop me from spitting, "before all is said and done, I will have your respect. Even if I must pry it from your cold, dead hands."

He stared at me, a thousand conflicting things all whirling across his face. How long he held me like that I'm not totally sure, but the most devilish, snake-eyed smile finally broke through his misty confusion. "Fifty."


Strange things happen to your mind when you have nothing left to lose. I knew of course that prodding him was reckless but, in that mindset, I no longer cared. If I died in the process of causing him grief, so be it. But an even stranger thing happened in response; nothing. This little exchange set the tone for most of our future communication; open disdain. And yet, he weirdly "trusted" me more when I was openly threatening him than he did when I was trying to prove my innocence. It was like I had finally taken up the script to the reality living in his head. He didn't let me near anything important, but neither was I held hostage in the house. I even dipped my toe back into politics to aid a beleaguered friend.

Poor Antebellum had woes of her own.